It's just as novel as the wracking sobs; he'd isolated himself so thoroughly, so stubbornly after the funeral. Even Nydas's fierce embrace would only last a few second before he pulled away. On the Astral Plane, he and Evandrin only had moments to hold each other again.
He remains largely silent, save for the odd shuddering, startled gasp of air. The echoes of agony in those moments are almost a relief; they're familiar, they're grounding.
When he finally pulls back - he couldn't possibly say after how long - he looks up Jedao with wide, stunned eyes.
"I - " It's more of a croak than a word. He doesn't remember how to do this.
"Good. Make us some tea," Jedao tells him, gently but straightforwardly firm. Zerxus needs fluids and needs not to have to make any decisions quite yet, Jedao suspects.
Zerxus nods with relief he doesn't even realise is there, and stands with the stubborn smoothness of someone who's in pain but doesn't have to worry about agitating their wounds.
He's already walking towards the kitchen as he asks, "How do you like it?"
It's not a big kitchen, but there's enough room for a table; there are two chairs, at the moment, and Zerxus reaches out to slide one out as he moves past, headed towards - more or less a stovetop. It alights with something when he fills a kettle and presses a button. Then he reaches up to the only cupboard and pulls out two cups.
One is blue porcelain inlaid with delicate constellations of brass; the other is a vibrant red, painted with a golden dragon that has never faded. Only one of them has seen any use on the Barge so far. There's a long moment where he just stares at them in his hands before finally setting them down on the counter.
"White tea, I think," he murmurs, if only to ground himself in the present; then he's reaching back into the cupboard, and pulling out a sealed tin. It's illustrated beautifully with vines and petals, but there are runes painted into the design that catch the light a little differently.
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He remains largely silent, save for the odd shuddering, startled gasp of air. The echoes of agony in those moments are almost a relief; they're familiar, they're grounding.
When he finally pulls back - he couldn't possibly say after how long - he looks up Jedao with wide, stunned eyes.
"I - " It's more of a croak than a word. He doesn't remember how to do this.
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"Do you drink tea?"
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"Yes. I've - been drinking a lot of it, lately." It's soothing in the way his magic ought to be, but isn't.
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He's already walking towards the kitchen as he asks, "How do you like it?"
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One is blue porcelain inlaid with delicate constellations of brass; the other is a vibrant red, painted with a golden dragon that has never faded. Only one of them has seen any use on the Barge so far. There's a long moment where he just stares at them in his hands before finally setting them down on the counter.
"White tea, I think," he murmurs, if only to ground himself in the present; then he's reaching back into the cupboard, and pulling out a sealed tin. It's illustrated beautifully with vines and petals, but there are runes painted into the design that catch the light a little differently.
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"White tea is my favorite," he admits, lets Zerxus have that small validation.